Disciplining Little Abby Read Online Free PDF Page A

her coworkers who started calling her Abby. Up until then she’d gone by Mal, the most tolerable variation of Mallory she could come up with. One night while watching JAG, a new forensics character appeared, a brilliant goth chick, with black hair and an infectious smile. Mal immediately developed a minor league crush on the quirky character, and when she resurfaced on NCIS, Mal became a devoted follower. The fact that Abby Sciuto had a farting stuffed hippo only cemented Mal’s idolization. It wasn’t long before she began copying the character’s style, and when one of the sports reporters took to calling her Abby, she accepted the new moniker with pride.
    She retrieved her blanket from the bottom desk drawer and snuggled it to her chest, inhaling the faint scent of Julia’s perfume as she watched the staff race about the office. It had been dark by the time the driver had delivered her to her parents’ house. Not wanting to go inside, she had stood beneath Julia’s windows and tossed pebbles at the glass until her little sister finally stuck her head out to see what was going on.
    “Oh my God, are you okay?” Julia had gasped in relief as she’d leaned out of the window and demanded a hug. “Mom was livid and Eva didn’t shut up about you for half an hour. Where did you go?”
    Abby told her about running to the skateboard park but kept the details of her appointment to herself. She begged Julia to go upstairs and get her stuff for her. “Look under the pillows!” she whispered as loudly as she dared, just before Julia ran off.
    When Julia reappeared at the window, she’d handed over the bag, the blanket, and Mr. Jingles. “I can’t believe you still have him!” she’d squealed as she held him out the window. “Remember when Dad snuck him out of the trash can? Abby, I’m sorry. Really, and so is Dad. You know how mom is when she gets worked up. She puts everything into these dinners, and if anything is off, she just loses her mind. And Eva, well, she’s not as mature as she likes to pretend. She’s just not as obvious with her button-pushing is all.”
    Abby had shrugged it off at the time, just happy to have her stuff back without further confrontation, but the words still hurt even five days later. Childish behavior. Your own failure . Even now her teeth ground at the echoes in her head.
    She’d also yet to receive the promised email and was beginning to think Mr. Green had decided not to work with her. Maybe it was all just some crazy joke, and now I’m the laughing stock of YouTube .
    “Abby Willis?”
    From across the room she heard her name called out in a deep voice she didn’t recognize. Answers of “in the back” called out in response, and a few moments later, the voice called her name once more. Setting her blanket aside, she stood up and spied a bouquet of balloons midway across the room, their handler hidden from view behind them.
    “Back here!” she hollered, giggling at the mass of balloons surging towards her, jostling and shoving their way through the scurrying staff until they came to a stop beside her desk. The hand clutching their tethers thrust out to her as the voice behind them repeated her name, a slight lilt at the end turning it into a question.
    “I’m Abby!” she squealed as she took the balloon bouquet and quickly tied it off to the corner of her cubicle, giggling and dancing from foot to foot with excitement. She’d always been envious of other girls at work who occasionally got flowers delivered, but the gaily colored collection now floating above her workspace outshone all the rest.
    Still laughing, she turned to the delivery boy to ask who had sent them. One look and her voice failed. He was tall and lean, with long, sandy-colored hair twisted in rough dreads and carelessly pulled back into a ponytail that fell to his shoulders, Abby could easily picture him on the cover of a surfer magazine, or perhaps on stage in front of a band. Ornate, colorful tattoos